


My time will come

by Arithanas



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-08 18:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16434266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: From the moment it was sheared off the Merino to the day it was coiled into a bullet-shaped skein, it had been plotting its way to sheer villainy.





	My time will come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wavewright62](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/gifts).



The Abuelita, the sweet Latina grandmother, stopped by the knitting supplies aisle. She wore, hanging from a golden chain with bows made from ribbons of different colors, the cutest pink rhinestone eyeglasses, and those black yoga pants with the word “juicy” written across the bottom. Her gnarled fingers touched her dry lips as she considered the different needles and hooks.

If her cardigan—that sported all the signs of being handmade—was any indication, she really didn’t need more tools for her craft.

“Buy me…” whispered the skein of yarn in the bargain bin.

This was not a regular wool skein, no sir. This particular yarn was born from the fleece of an old, cranky Merino sheep, and that sheep was evil. This was no exaggeration: That evil Merino sheep burned the barn… with the farmers inside.

This yarn was proud of its origins; from the moment it was sheared off the Merino to the day it was coiled into a bullet-shaped skein, it had been plotting its way to sheer villainy.

After some consideration, Abuelita turned her eyes to the discount yarns. With extreme care, she extended her hand to pick up our evil candidate.

“Yes! Pick me up!” the yarn exclaimed, sure of having found its way out of this purgatory called the Craft Cache. “Bring me home! Knit me, you fool, and seal _your doom_!”

The only frustration this skein had was the lack of a shrill, evil laugh. Haunted yarns speak the language of wool strands rubbing together, but they can’t laugh.

Abuelita lifted the skein nearly to her nose before she remembered her spectacles.

“Make me into a scarf and I’ll strangle you to death!” the yarn promised. “Make me into a beanie for your grandson, and I’ll cover his eyes while he’s driving. Make me into a shawl for your sister and I’ll burn her alive the next time she approaches the kitchen!”

With a shaking hand, Abuelita put her glasses on.  A moment later, she returned the skein to the bargain bin.

“No!” The yarn cried its frustration all the way down to its pit of despair.

“Stupid yarn,” a knitting needle said with the language of extruded aluminum, as the juicy Latina grandmother moved to the cashiers, with a careful yet lively step. “No one will ever want to knit anything out of puce and fluorescent orange variegated yarn.”

“Shut up, you traitor!” the yarn barked. “My day will come and you will be there to knit me. Remember my words!”

After that ominous pronouncement, silence fell on the knitting supplies aisle.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta reader: Isis (Via Discord channel).


End file.
